


Work it Out

by spreadyourwingsandfly



Category: Black Panther (2018), Marvel
Genre: F/M, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Infertility, Marriage, Married Couple, Not Cheating, T'challa - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-17
Updated: 2020-07-17
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:01:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25344370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spreadyourwingsandfly/pseuds/spreadyourwingsandfly
Summary: Things between you and T'Challa have been... distant, to say the least. For the last few months, you've been feeling more like roommates than husband and wife. You see it, so you're sure he does, too.  The only thing is,...What are you going to do about it?
Relationships: T'Challa (Marvel) & Reader, T'Challa (Marvel)/Reader
Kudos: 12





	Work it Out

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer- I own no rights to any Marvel characters or their fictional worlds, countries, planets, galaxies, etc.
> 
> Trigger warning and themes - mentions of infertility, allusion to unfaithfulness. marital problems. disapproval from parents about choice of career. Mentions of depression and insecurity.

You hear the bitter sound of the winter wind before you feel its distinct rigidness, a small amount of snow blowing in the front door as your husband of three years, T’Challa, enters your town home.

‘’Don’t forget to wipe your shoes, please,’’ you reply, turning back to your work on your laptop, pulling your cardigan tighter around yourself as you sit at the kitchen table.

‘’Hello to you, too,’’ T’Challa mumbles, slipping out of his boots after wiping them against the mat placed just inside of your front door before doing so.

Bitterly, he notices that the permanent smile on the snowman design of the rug has smiled more than he has at you this entire week.

With a sigh, he hangs up his coat in the front closet, placing his bag on the couch before joining you in the kitchen.

You have been married to T’Challa Udaku for three years, but you dated for two and a half years prior to it. You met in college in one of your general education classes. T’Challa had majored in art, much to his parents’ chagrin, and you had majored in law, much to your parents’ surprise.

The two of you had remained close friends throughout college, and began dating shortly after graduation. Long nights were spent in your studio apartment, talking about marriage before you’d walk him to the door of the apartment complex, hailing a cab for him and making him promise you that he’ll call you when he gets back to the small apartment he’s renting with M’Baku, W’Kabi, and N’Jadaka a few blocks away from yours.

A year later, T’Challa had his first art show. Well, not his own, but with a group of artists he’d gone to college with. They each did a piece on their hometown, T’Challa creating beautiful pieces that could only do so much to show off the beauty that is Wakanda.

After the exhibit, the two of you had gone out for carry out, taken it back to your apartment, and he’d fished the black velvet box he’d been nervously hiding in his sock drawer back at his place for nearly six months,

‘’I figured that, wow tonight is going so well, I’d better go ahead and take my chance.’’

T’Challa had smiled up at you as your hand flew to your mouth, your ‘’yes’’ coming out through tears as your now husband took your hand and placed the ring on your finger.

As you look at it now, under the fluorescent kitchen light, twirling it on your finger, you remember that night. And there were many others like it. You’d cried on your wedding day, when you first moved into this townhouse, when T’Challa had surprised you by accepting a job at a large art gallery by day and at a restaurant by night.

‘’This way, you can focus more on moving up,’’ he’d insisted, ‘’And I can always focus on me afterwards.’’ It’s the way that you two had always worked-taking and sharing and giving at the same time, always seeming to balance things out and do what works ebay for you.

Now, though, with the title of ‘’partner’’s teeming so accessible in just a few years time, you wonder if T’Challa now resents you for taking his offer and denying him the chance to teach his dreams.

‘’Hi,’’ he greets as he walks into the kitchen, forcing you to go back to your task at hand, lest he know what you have been thinking. 

His voice is so monotone, though. It is as icy as the sidewalk outside of your humble abode. It cuts right through you, sending a chill down your spine in a way that is gar frp, the way that his voice initially thrilled you.

‘’Hey.’’

Your tone is just as cold as his is, and you contemplate that choice while he washes his hands, gets a glass of water, supping it as he leans against the granite countertop of the kitchen sink.

‘’Sorry I’m late. It was a rough day at work,’’ he reveals, ‘’How was your day?’’

‘’Pretty good. I’ll be at the firm all day tomorrow working on another case, so you’ll be largely on your own for dinner,’’ you express as you continue typing.

‘’Oh, I have to work tomorrow anyway. I picked up an extra shift at the restaurant,’’ he reveals, placing his glass down, ‘’So, yeah. I can always bring us something home. I get off at night.’’

‘’Sounds good.’’

How can conversation be so rigid, and so, so forced? You’re just going through the motions it feels. So this conversation is more out of courtesy, less out of commitment, and you feel like you’re dragging yourself through it.

‘’I have to get some work done, I can go to the bedroom if you’d like,’’ you shrug, not looking at your husband, ‘’Your dinner is in the microwave.’’

‘’That’s okay. You can stay here. I have to call Lana about the art exhibit and the field trip tomorrow.’’

‘’Oh, okay.’’

‘’Well… well, I’ll be quiet so that you can focus.’’

T’Challa moves about the kitchen silently, warming up his plate of asparagus, chicken and rice before taking it and his glass of water into your shared bedroom.

How did you two end up this way? You feel more like roommates than husband and wife, more like acquaintances than best friends. It’s so far from where it was at the beginning, so far away from the dream that you had of the two of you at the beginning. 

You can’t think about that now, though, so you push on through your work, blinking back tears as you do so.

And ignoring yet another negative pregnancy test hidden beneath layers of used tissue, a toothpaste tube and makeup wipes in the bathroom trash can.


End file.
